A thousand Boy Kisses

I think they’re leaving it all behind. I think they woke up one day and decided
there’s more to life. I think they decided—a couple in love, a boy and a girl—
that they wanted to explore the world. They sold their possessions and bought a
boat … She loves to play music, and he loves to capture moments on film…
My eyes left the camera bag that I knew so well. I understood where she got
her theory about the boats.
He loves to capture moments on film…
I tried to be angry with her. I gave up taking pictures two years ago; it wasn’t
who I was anymore. It was no longer my dream. NYU wasn’t in my plans. I
didn’t want to pick the camera back up. But my fingers began to twitch, and,
despite being pissed at myself, I lifted the lid off the case and peered inside.
The old black-and-chrome vintage Canon that I had treasured stared up at me. I
felt my face blanch, the blood moving to rush through to my heart, which
slammed against my ribs. I had thrown this camera away. I had discarded it and
all that it meant.
I had no idea how the hell Poppy had gotten hold of it. I wondered if she’d
tracked down another and bought it. I lifted it from the bag and turned it over.
There, scratched into the back, was my name. I had scraped it there on my
thirteenth birthday, when my mamma and pappa gave me this camera.
It was the exact one.
Poppy had found my camera.
Flipping the back, I saw a full roll of film inside. In the bag lay the lenses. The
ones I knew so well. Despite the years, I still instinctively knew which one
would work best for any given shot—landscape, portrait, nighttime, daylight,
natural setting, studio…
Hearing a soft rustle from behind me, I glanced over my shoulder. Poppy was
sitting, watching me. Her eyes fell to the camera. Nervously inching forward,
she said, “I asked your pappa about it. Where it had gone. He told me that you
threw it away.” Poppy’s head tilted to the side. “You never knew, and he never

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told you, but he found it. He saw you had thrown it away. You had broken parts
of it. The lenses were cracked, and other things.” I was clenching my jaw so
tightly it ached.
Poppy’s finger traced the back of my hand that was resting in the blanket. “He
had it repaired without you knowing. He’s kept it safe for the past couple of
years. He’s kept up hope that you would find your way back to photography. He
knew how much you loved it. He also blames himself for the fact that you gave
it up.”
My instinct was to open my mouth and hiss out that it was his fault. Everything
was. But I didn’t. For some reason the twist in my stomach kept my mouth shut.
Poppy’s eyes glistened. “You should have seen him last night, when I asked
him about it. He was so emotional, Rune. Even your mamma didn’t know he’d
kept it. He even had reels of film ready. Just in case you ever wanted it back.”
I averted my gaze from Poppy’s, instead re-focusing on the camera. I didn’t
know how to feel about all that. I tried for angry. But, to my surprise, anger
refused to come. For some reason I couldn’t get the image from my head, of my
pappa cleaning the camera and getting it fixed, on his own.
“He even has the darkroom ready and waiting for you, at your house.” I closed
my eyes when Poppy added the last part. I was silent. Completely silent in
response. My head was racing with too many thoughts, too many images. And I
was conflicted. I had vowed never to take another picture.
But vowing it had been one thing. Holding the object of my addiction in my
hands compromised everything I had sworn to fight against. To rebel against. To
throw away, just like my pappa had cast aside my feelings when he chose to
return to Oslo. The pit of heat in my stomach began to spread. This was the
anger I anticipated. This was the blast of fire I was expecting.
I inhaled deeply, bracing for the darkness to overwhelm me, when, suddenly,
Poppy jumped to her feet. “I’m going to the water,” she announced and walked
past me without another word. I watched her walk off. I watched her sink her
feet into the soft sand, the breeze flicking up her short hair. I stayed,

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mesmerized, as she skipped to the water’s edge, allowing the breaking waves to
lap over her feet. She held her dress higher on her legs to avoid the splashes.
Her head tipped back to feel the sun on her face. Then, she glanced back to
where I sat. She glanced back and she laughed. Free, without abandon, like she
had no cares in the world.
I was transfixed, even more so when a reflected ray of sun from the sea cast a
golden sheen on the side of her face, her green eyes emerald in this new light.
I lost my breath, actually fought for breath at how stunning she looked. Before
I had even thought it through, I had my camera in my hand. I felt the weight
transfer into my hands, and closing my eyes, I let the urge succeed.
Opening my eyes, I lifted the camera to my eye. Uncapping the lens, I found
the most perfect angle of my girl dancing in the waves.
And I clicked.
I clicked the button on the camera, my heart stuttering at every snap of the
shutter, sure in the knowledge that I was capturing Poppy in this moment—
happy.
Adrenalin surged through me at the thought of how these pictures would
develop. It was why I used the vintage camera. The anticipation of the darkroom,
the delayed gratification of seeing the wonder that you had caught. The skill it
took to work the camera to achieve that perfect shot.
A split second of serenity.
A moment of magic.
Poppy, in her own world, ran along the shore, her cheeks flushing pink with the
warmth of the sun. Lifting her hands into the air, Poppy let the hem of her dress
fall and dampen with splashes from the water.
Then she turned to face me. As she did, she grew perfectly still, as did my heart
in my chest. My finger waited, poised over the button, waiting for the right shot.
And then it came. It came as a look of pure bliss spread across her face. It came
as her eyes closed and her head tilted back, as if it were a relief, as if uncensored
happiness possessed her.

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I lowered the camera. Poppy held out her hand. Feeling high from the rush of
having my passion sprung upon me, I jumped to my feet and walked across the
sand.
When I took Poppy’s hand, she pulled me close and pressed her lips on mine. I
let her take the lead. I let her show me how much this meant to her. This
moment. And I let myself feel it too. I allowed myself, for this brief moment, to
push aside the heaviness I always carried like a shield. I allowed myself to get
lost in the kiss, lifting the camera up high. Even with my eyes closed and no
direction, I was convinced I had captured the best picture of the day.
Poppy stepped back and silently guided me back to the blanket, sitting us
down, resting her head on my shoulder. I lifted my arm over her warm, sun-
kissed shoulders and pulled her in close to my side. Poppy glanced up as I lazily
placed a kiss to her head. When I met her eyes, I sighed and pressed my forehead
to hers.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered, as she looked away to stare out over the
sea.
I hadn’t felt like this in so long. I hadn’t felt this peace inside since before we